Features
Focus on Israeli immigrants to Winnipeg: Reimaging manufacturing & supply chains in a post-Covid economy
By JON VAN DER VEEN
To further understand the economic effects of the novel coronavirus and the shutdown, The Jewish Post & News has reached out to several business owners in the community to get their stories. One of those who responded to our invitation to tell us how the pandemic has affected his business is Benjamin Isakov, the CEO and business coach at Congruent Clarity.
Congruent Clarity is a business consultancy firm which provides its clients with professional training and assistance in managing their small to medium sized company and supports the development of strategies to streamline production, reduce waste, emphasize efficiency, and grow. Benjamin Isakov, an Israeli immigrant, has decades of experience working with supply management chains and quality assurance, helping to plan, maintain and source the proper materials for companies engaged in heavy industry, such as Brunswick Steel and Versatile Inc. Now, Benjamin is passing on his knowledge to his many clients at Congruent Clarity through one-on-one, group, and online executive coaching.
I asked Isakov what he perceived to be the most significant issues currently facing businesses as a result of the pandemic-induced shutdown? I noted that many small businesses are now experiencing severe cash flow problems
Isakov responded: “Cash flow is indeed a big problem right now and there is no way around it if you want to keep your old business model working.”
He continued with a real-life situation: “So, I have two clients, and what we did with them to start was to list their skills and capacity that they have in their business in a brainstorm session and see how they could apply the capacity they have into a new reality. For example, some brewers and brewhouses started to produce hand sanitizer solutions. It’s about using the capacity that you already have to produce something that is in high demand in the market.”
Isakov explainined that, in this current economic climate, companies need to adjust their manufacturing base to shift production from luxury goods and non-essential amenities into more utilitarian products which are in higher demand. To further demonstrate this concept, he provided me with an example of one such transition: a local print metal shop started to produce small metal brackets that attach to the bottom of doors, enabling them to be opened by a foot –an inventive measure to help avoid the spread of the novel Coronavirus.
The objective for many local businesses should no longer be maximizing output, but instead, maximizing the efficiency and flexibility of their production. Moreover, as large multi-national corporations have increasingly globalized, they have been able to manufacture their products at cheaper rates and in greater quantities by utilizing long supply chains. These networks begin with mineral resource extraction in Africa where labour costs and standards are low; then, the manufacturing happens in East-Asia where the population has high skill levels but still retains cheap production costs; finally, the goods ship to Western countries, such as the United States and Canada, where generations of great prosperity have created consumption-driven economies.
As a result, in the last couple of decades, it has become futile for small—medium sized businesses to compete in large-scale manufacturing, especially since these huge multi-national conglomerates can afford to operate at a much lower cost and push the ‘little guy’ out. However, these long supply chains also come with several downsides which have been both exposed and exacerbated by the ongoing coronavirus pandemic.
Although bisecting the manufacturing industry with the consumer base has lowered costs for the consumer and increased corporate profits, this process makes global supply chains more vulnerable because there is an increased number of contact points along the chain for interference and failure. For example, when Covid-19 forced many manufactories in China to close, there were cascading effects for suppliers – who were no longer able to source products.
As a result, Isakov favours repatriating some of our manufacturing base. He said, “We need to keep local economies healthy by keeping at least a percentage of production in the country so that in cases like today we have the capacity to ramp up production. So, I would say –if I was in a leadership position– that we need to keep at least fifty percent of quantity for any type of production within the country.”
He gave a very pertinent example: “So, with safety masks – if you don’t have production at home you have nothing to ramp up. If you have such a machine working at thirty percent capacity making 100,000 masks every eight hours you can increase that to meet demand. But if you don’t have the capacity, you are at the mercy of other countries and have to rely upon them.”
Indeed, across Canada, the United States and the European Union, there were widespread shortages of surgical masks at the onset of the pandemic. Moreover, when Canada eventually imported Chinese masks, the Globe and Mail reported that “about one million of the face masks it has purchased from China have failed to meet proper standards for health care professionals and will not be distributed to provinces or cities.”
Although I recognize the downsides of globalized supply chains and shared many of Benjamin’s concerns, I pressed him to explain how Canada could actualize the repatriation of strategic industries?
Benjamin responded: “We can subsidize some of this industry in the country or make tariffs to make outside products more expensive … Businessmen will not do something just because; they need to have an incentive.”
He continued to explain that there are many benefits if you shop locally at small stores, and although this is more expensive, the government can create the conditions to source locally. A healthy local economy will help create more jobs and wealth; Benjamin stated that if you buy from a small retailer, approximately 68 cents recirculate in the community, whereas if you buy from a big domestic retailer, only 43 cents stay.
I suggested to Isakov that consumers must accept short-term increasse in price for the sake of long-term growth.
Benjamin concurred and gave me an uneasy prediction that without more drastic government intervention the fallout of the pandemic will send shockwaves throughout the Canadian economy for the next six-ten months, especially in sectors such as heavy industry, retail, and real estate. Moreover, Canadians are sleepwalking into a more significant crisis if we do not address the fundamental economic issues. There are points of no return, and for many companies that is fast approaching. Small businesses are already operating on slim profit margins, so the government’s response to the crisis by providing relatively low-interest loans is both inadequate, and a short-term fix.
Features
I Speak “Jew”
By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence
By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco
By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.